A Marvelous Opportunity
by rann
Summary: A Seeking Summerlee Challenge fic Summerlee’s talked about new beginnings and second chances. What happened in his past that caused him to feel the need to start over? How does it contrast with some of the other explorers’ views on starting over?


**A Marvelous Opportunity**  
by **rann**

**Disclaimer:** The characters from "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World" are owned by Telescene, NewLine Television, The Over the Hill Gang, Coote/Hayes, etc.  No profit is being made from this story.  No infringement upon copyrighted material is intended.

**Thanks: ** Many, many thanks to CMS and Ariadne who spent incredible amounts of time making this a readable fic.

**Spoilers: **Tribute, Unnatural Selection, Barbarians at the Gate, Under Pressure, Man of Vision, Out of the Blue, Brothers in Arms, Tapestry

**Description: **Summerlee's talked about new beginnings and second chances.  What happened in his past that caused him to feel the need to start over?  How does it contrast with some of the other explorers' views on starting over?

**Setting: ** The balcony at the treehouse, post-Tribute.

**_From the episode Tribute:_**

_Nighttime at the treehouse, soft sounds of nighttime, crickets._

_Marguerite standing on the balcony, Summerlee approaches carrying two glasses. "Nothing a little Amontillado won't cure, I warrant."_

_Marguerite is at the railing. "I never got used to the quiet. The night, the darkness.  Sometimes it's almost…"_

_"Palpable?" Summerlee finishes for her as she hesitates._

_"Yeah." Marguerite smiles, takes a glass from the white haired professor._

_"Sometimes you wonder if it will ever be daylight again.  Sometimes you pray it won't.  So you lose yourself in flowers and trees.  Looking at life under a microscope instead of living it in the world.  Cowardly perhaps but much easier on the heart."  Summerlee is both comforting and introspective as he speaks. _

_"You did a very brave thing today." Marguerite offers a different view of the professor._

_Summerlee dismisses her praise with an intake of breath. "Nature, nurture, my dear."_

_"I don't follow."_

_"When we crashed on this blasted plateau, I left more than London behind."_

_"Care to elaborate, Professor?"_

_"The people we were, or thought we were.  The things we did.  What do they matter here?  Marvelous opportunity, really.  How many people get a chance to recreate themselves? Here's to new beginnings."  Summerlee offers his glass in a toast.  They clink glasses._

_"I'll drink to that."_

_They sip their drinks and look out over the jungle._

_Closing credits and Lost World theme roll._

**A few minutes later….**

The two companions stared out over the jungle, the darkness increased by the overcast sky.  No moon, no stars disrupted that palpable darkness.  

As a sip of Amontillado warmed its way down her throat, Marguerite asked the question that troubled her.  "Don't you think sometimes things are past the point where you can make amends?  Sometimes you have to pay for your mistakes?"

"Oh, I hope not, my dear Marguerite.  I hope not."  Summerlee took another sip of the aromatic liquor.  "When something you've done or said in the past haunts you," Summerlee spoke slowly, "the thought of putting it right may be all that lets you continue."  

Marguerite considered the melancholy undercurrent of that remark and sought to offer comfort to the man who today had put his life on the line for her.  "Knowing you, Arthur, I'm sure you did your best."

"I wonder."  Summerlee's mind drifted back two years.

***

**London, 1917**

In the halls of the impersonal government building the respected Professor Arthur Summerlee entered the office of the minister of munitions.

"Colonel Lord Churchill, you asked to see me?"  The elderly man's mild voice drew the attention of the government official.

"I did, Professor.  However, I am a Colonel no longer.  When I took up my government post, I left the army."  The portly man behind the desk gestured towards a chair, then glancing down, shuffled a few papers before looking up again.  "We have need, Professor, of a sacrificial lamb."

"I beg your pardon, Lord Churchill?"  The scientist was perplexed and took advantage of the proffered chair.

"Your work, Professor Summerlee, and that of your colleagues is appreciated by your government.  Your evaluations of the ongoing research for the war effort are much respected."  Churchill paused to light his cigar.  He eyed the elderly scientist.  Summerlee's area of expertise was somewhat incongruous on the surface, but he had the ability to bring together the often irascible and uncooperative, however brilliant, minds of the leading experts of the day.  His reputation for impartiality and insightful evaluation was unquestioned.  

Churchill liked to form his own opinion of whom he would trust with sensitive missions.  Studying him unobtrusively a moment longer, he came to a decision.  "There is a need to sabotage one of our own projects."  The government official watched for a reaction to this deliberately blunt announcement.

Astounded, Summerlee awaited clarification.  Churchill sat in silence briefly and regarded his cigar, deciding how much the scientist needed to know.  "We have urgent need to convince the Germans of the value of an operative."  Churchill considered the cigar.  "A volunteer, an army officer, stands ready to do whatever needs to be done to disrupt the research."

"And you want me to do what precisely, Lord Churchill?"  

"You are required to determine which of the ongoing studies could be abandoned.  Naturally, one must be selected that will not compromise the greater interests."  The middle-aged man rose and paced to the window, studying the neighboring buildings as he spoke.  "However there must be sufficient evidence that this was promising research, that there was a reasonable prospect of success.  It is necessary that the Germans believe they have sabotaged an important project."

Summerlee considered the assignment.  "These researchers have devoted their lives to the cause of science."

"Victory will not be gained 'simply by throwing masses of men on the western front'.  The army officer, who will be our scapegoat is aware that he risks disgrace," Churchill gestured with his cigar, "perhaps worse if events go awry.  Our operative, having been forced into a very precarious balancing act with the Germans, risks even more."  

Churchill reflected on his meeting with the operative at a recent social event organized by Lady Churchill.  Under the cover of an ostensibly casual encounter, the government minister had been able to assess the data provided regarding the exigencies of the situation and its potential use.  The agent's charm had made the long conversation seem just a plausible social exchange. "An incredibly brave person." Churchill concluded as tapped the ash from the cigar.

The minister's meaning was clear.  Dedication to England's cause came from many sources.  Summerlee considered what he was being asked to do.  The idea of subverting the cause of knowledge and scientific inquiry was repugnant.  Even more so, because it wasn't his work he was being asked to sacrifice, but forcing the sacrifice from another.  This was an anathema to him.  To make that decision for someone else.  He studied the man wreathed in the cigar smoke that hung in the room.

"Very well, Lord Churchill, I will find an appropriate project.  My committee has been reviewing the various ongoing efforts to judge the progress that has been made."

"You may use your colleagues for evaluating these projects, but because of the need for secrecy only you can determine which ones are most suitable for …dismantling.  Several must be selected so that our army officer can determine which one it will be feasible to derail."  He paused for emphasis.  "This must be done in the strictest confidence."  Having issued his orders Churchill returned his attention to the papers on his desk.

Summerlee stood and nodded stiffly.  


***

**The plateau, 1919**

The treehouse was quieter than normal.  Roxton, Challenger and Veronica hadn't returned yet.  Challenger had been so excited and determined to find the source of that whalebone carving, there was no telling how long they'd be gone.  Ned had borne most of the work on the downed aircraft and retired early.  

Both Summerlee and Marguerite leaned on the balcony railing, each wrapped in their own thoughts.  The past that should have been left behind now that they were on this lost plateau, seemed very close.

"It does make you think."  Summerlee remarked.

"Whether you want to or not."  Marguerite's smile was self-deprecating.  "You can't outrun your past.  Even here."

"Not outrun it, my dear, but perhaps outmaneuver it."  Summerlee's thoughts traveled back in time once more, as Marguerite fell silent.

***

**London, 1917.**

The conference room was full of heavy, dark furniture, the deep blue of the cushions faded with age.  Its atmosphere was not lightened by the weather visible through the tall windows that looked out onto a gray, cold London rain.  A mist muted the noise of the automobiles and the wheels of the horse drawn vehicles splashing their way on the street below.

The men, older, frayed around the edges mostly, sat around the table.  Members of what was ostensibly titled the His Majesty's Review Board for Scientific Research.  Only a select few knew the real mission of the Summerlee Commission.  None of them were those whose projects were under review.  Professor Summerlee abruptly bid Challenger to enter at the knock on the solid mahogany door.

The red headed scientist looked around contemptuously at the men seated at the conference table.  Representing a wide range of scientific disciplines, most of them regarded him with barely hidden disfavor.  The single friendly face belonged to Lionel Holt, head of geology at Oxford.  Challenger was sure that the initial approval of his project had been due to the intercession of his good friend.  

In the hushed room Doctor Meldrum's murmur, which was intended only for the ears of Professor Murray, reached the new arrival.  "Ah, the madman of Edinburgh makes his entrance."

Challenger ignored the others in favor of confronting the cool stare of his long time nemesis, Arthur Summerlee.  It was times like these that he wished things had turned out otherwise for Hargrove.  He was another visionary who would have been willing to stand by him.  But William had been gone more than a decade, destroyed by the death of his daughter.  Challenger and Hargrove hadn't always agreed, but at least neither was hidebound.  

"Professor Challenger, thank you for appearing before the board."  The polite words were a simple formality.  The unconventional, and to Summerlee's mind, dubious scientific reasoning that Challenger espoused eclipsed the need for any real respect.  In the normal course of events Challenger's project would have been recommended for rejection, but his successes with the Royal Navy on their dirigibles had given his work an audience.  When Holt, in his turn, spoke in favor of it, the commission had had to bite the bullet and forward approval that the research be continued.

"You gave me little choice, Summerlee."  Challenger didn't waste words on appeasing his colleagues and rivals in the academic world; he wasn't about to start when it came to politics.  "Are you behind the delay in my iridium shipment?" he demanded.

"I'm afraid, you'll have to speak to the appropriate government officials regarding procurement of supplies.  That does not lie in the jurisdiction of this review board."

"Why have I been pulled away from my work?  The Admiralty will not be pleased."

"This board reports to the Admiralty, as well as other military bodies, Professor, on project status."  Summerlee cut off further objections.  "If you wish to return to your research, it would be wise to cooperate.  That will facilitate the process."

Challenger looked at his most persistent critic and nodded grudgingly.  If there was one thing he had learned in dealing with the government it was that bureaucracy was never ending and unavoidable.

"Very well, please summarize the current status of your stage one experiments."  Summerlee glanced down at his papers, dipping his pen into the well, prepared to make notes.

Holt inclined his head encouragingly, with a slight smile.

***

**The plateau, 1919**

Summerlee looked down from the balcony, the floor of the jungle was lost in the utter blackness of the moonless night.  For a fanciful moment he wondered if the Fates, Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, might stroll by, for surely it couldn't be coincidence that he had become marooned on this plateau with the man whose potentially greatest work he had destroyed.  Over the years he had solaced himself with the reflection that Challenger's efforts would have never worked.    

Bitter adversaries they had been.  No matter what Summerlee said, Challenger would argue the point.  Summerlee returned the favor.  Even on their first days on the plateau, they bickered over so many issues, each unwilling to concede the others expertise.  It wasn't until the fanatical religious group, the Christecs, had captured them that they had begun to appreciate each other.

The irony was worthy of a tale of the Greek gods' revenge on mortals who challenged them.  Here he was proving what had been George Edward Challenger's most fanciful claim, a lost world where dinosaurs still roamed.  He couldn't help but consider what if Challenger had been equally right about his other claims.

***

**Knightsbridge, evening, 1917**

That evening at his desk, a pool of light cast its yellow glow onto the papers spread out on the blotter.  Three stacks of papers and folders were on the desk.  One, reasonably large, contained reports whose results made them worth continuing.  Another, smaller stack had reports containing unfavorable or insufficient results, but while funding for these would be trimmed and resources redirected, they would not suffice for the purpose he needed.  

Two recent reports were stacked to the side.  The results were not promising for either, but if the only information passed on to the Germans consisted of the findings from the early experiments, it would not be apparent that ultimate outcomes weren't viable.  The main risk, in the case of those two, was the length of time involved in the work; information may have already leaked.

Summerlee studied the last report.  He tried to ignore the name at the top.    
Challenger, G. E.    
University of Edinburgh.  

"The van der Waals process."  Summerlee muttered as he reviewed this report yet again.  Summerlee was acquainted with Johannes Diderik van der Waals.  He had met the Dutch scientist at various conferences over the years.  Their research had not overlapped so he didn't know the man that well.  But they had conversed at the obligatory social events that heading conference committees involved, so he'd been pleased when van der Waals won the Nobel Prize seven years ago.  He had spent some time reading abstracts on his prize-winning theory.  

Challenger's use of the van der Waals force was quite a unique concept.  The early research was stalled due to material shortages.  If this process worked, it had the potential to end the war.  And better yet, end the war without additional loss of life. 

He picked up his pipe, more to have something to hold than because he wanted a smoke.  He paced thoughtfully.  "The material is on its way now from the Laurentian refinery."  Summerlee, musing aloud, reached into his pocket and withdrew the pouch of tobacco.  "Of course much can happen between the St. Lawrence Seaway and London."  He packed the tobacco in the bowl of the pipe with absentminded expertise.  

Yes, the potential for Challenger's project promised so much good.  If it could work.  If it could be completed soon enough.  That was a sticking point.  "But that's not the real problem."  The street below was dark, quiet.  Its stillness was almost palpable.  The threat from the German 'Height Climbers' was taken seriously.  Mindful of even the small amount of light from his desk lamp, the white haired professor pulled the heavy drapes closed.

"No, the real difficulty is the other side of the van der Waals process."  Summerlee struck a light and puffed thoughtfully, creating the necessary draw to start the tobacco smoldering.  "Such a unique way to take advantage of the shift of an electron's orbit."  

For all his quarreling with Challenger, he didn't doubt the man's sincerity in this endeavor.  Of course the madman of Edinburgh had more than his fair share of hare-brained ideas.  But in this case, he might actually have some theories that could prove out.  "Unfortunately, Challenger's van der Waals process is a coin with two sides."  

Summerlee regarded the research document.  It might end the war without further loss of life or it could be perverted into the most dreadful weapon ever unleashed on the world.  "If I can see it, someone else could. And using the destructive power of the van der Waals process would take less effort than the more beneficial implementation Challenger envisions.  If Challenger's concept works."  

Summerlee's eyes clouded as he thought of wars and governments over the years.  Could he trust them not to choose the easy, destructive path?  "If I stop Challenger, am I preventing the potential good?  If I don't stop Challenger, the potential evil might ultimately destroy all that we know."  Summerlee sighed.

The decanter of Amontillado on the sideboard beckoned.  Summerlee refused its comfort.  In the past, he had sat with pipe and sherry to think things through.  But this was a decision that required a clear head.  He wished there was some way he could pass this choice off to someone else.  It was bad enough with the double-edged sword of Challenger's van der Waals process.  

But in his heart he couldn't be sure that his animosity towards Challenger wasn't affecting his judgment.  There were others depending on him.  He didn't know them, would probably never know them.   The gallant army officer was willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of the war.  Some brave soul dancing on the edge of an abyss, double dealing the Germans.  With their courage as his guide, how could he choose anything else?  

The folder joined the other two on the stack on his desk.  He cleared away the other files, locking them up.  The folders for the three suitable projects were carefully positioned in the center of his desk, as instructed.

With a firm step he strode to the sideboard and poured a glass of the sherry. Summerlee raised his glass in salute.  "Challenger, for once I apologize."  

***

**The plateau, 1919**

The gray haired scientist pulled his attention back to the present.  Regrets.  Over the years how many had piled up?  Summerlee considered his companions in this mad adventure that began when he picked up the gauntlet Challenger had thrown down in the Zoological Society's hallowed halls.

He envied his youngest companions sometimes, not their youth and vigor, but the chance to approach life with a fresh slate.  He envied Challenger sometimes as well, not his genius, which he now acknowledged, but his utter sense of conviction in his own infallibility.  Not for him the self-doubt over decisions of the past.

Of all his companions, Summerlee thought he had more in common with Marguerite.  "Odd to consider that."  It had brought him out to the balcony, offering his universal panacea, a glass of sherry.  It had worked its magic, she had opened up a little, seemed soothed a bit.   But she didn't seem convinced that starting over was possible.

Roxton was the other member of their disparate group who seemed plagued with regrets.  While the hunter wouldn't reveal which nightmare he confronted in that blasted hallucinogenic fungus filled cave, Summerlee could easily guess what it was.  He knew of the scandal that surrounded Roxton.  Those dreadful tabloids had certainly had a field day with their lurid accounts of the events in Africa.  Summerlee suspected that Roxton shared Marguerite's belief that a new beginning was an improbable proposition.

Maybe it was the benefit of age or perhaps the capriciousness of those Fates he was certain resided on the plateau along with the dinosaurs. Suddenly when you have so little time left, starting fresh seemed so possible.

***

**Knightsbridge, 1917, the next day.**

Summerlee took the files on the projects to be continued as well as those to be discontinued with him to the government office that morning.  Three files remained, still carefully positioned on his desk at home.

No one took note of the handsome Army major with the briefcase in Knightsbridge.  Military personnel were a common sight.  With a quick glance around him, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the slim lock pick.  It was the work of a few moments to let himself in.  

He found the study of the modest home easily enough.  The folders sat awaiting him on the desk.  He wondered briefly what Professor Summerlee was like.  Obviously he wasn't getting rich on a government paycheck.  He knew from the dossier that Summerlee had been recommended to head the commission by a top-level government official who was a former student of the Cambridge professor.

He opened his briefcase to tuck the folders away.  His unorthodox manner of collecting the data from the Summerlee Commission meant less of an opportunity for meetings that might be noted.  Until they pinpointed the MI5 mole, too much caution was better than too little. Still unremarked, he left the home, briefcase still in hand.

Later that evening the files spread out in front of him, his reading done, decision made, the cup of double brewed tea and splash of milk was abandoned for a glass of whiskey.  He wondered if his courage could stand the test.  

He wasn't afraid of dying.  He'd been dying since that bloody day in Kenya.  There really was nothing for him now.  If he was shot while setting up this little farce, it would be easier for him.  Unfortunately, he couldn't afford to be shot.

He had to complete this mission, or else someone else would pay the price.  That brave soul who had stepped into the lion's den.  He'd be damned before another person died because of him.  Parsifal.  He could only admire the effrontery it took to turn the tables on the Germans.  The Germans thought they had turned a British agent, that they now had a highly placed double agent.  To reverse the game – the army major lifted his glass in silent salute to such heroism.  Such audacity sparked his admiration.  If he was to save Parsifal, to make Parsifal a hero to the Germans, he had to live, he had to be caught.

That's what he dreaded most, the disgrace.  The government promised to hush things up, but he knew how things could leak, how there would always be a whisper of scandal attached to his name.  Hell, there already was a scandal to his name.  This was no more than he deserved.  After Kenya, he had tried to prove himself honorable, but still the stigma lingered.  Now it would only be worse.

"Sometimes you have to pay for your mistakes."  The whiskey was tossed back and burned its way down his throat.  "You'd think with all I'd done, death would have had the decency to take me before this.  But no, I survived any number of trips to Africa, Asia and South America.  I fought Xan's bravos and won despite the odds against me.  I made it through no-man's land.  Saved for this. Maybe it's only right, it's the penance set for me."

He glanced down again at the files, idly looking at the name of the man whose work would receive the deathblow.  "Sorry, Challenger.  That iridium in transit from the Laurentian Plateau is just too tailor-made for our purposes.  The perfect reason to cause a disruption to the project.  A scapegoat arrested.  The Germans will think we believe we caught a spy, so we'll stop looking for the rumored leak in MI5. And to cap it off, they'll think they've sabotaged an important project.  Parsifal will look like he walks on water."

***

The suite at the Goring was quiet, the drapes pulled against the moonless night.  The elegant woman glanced at the watch pinned at her breast.  Its gold case glinted in the glow of the light.  Another gift from the Baron.  She removed the latest from its velvet box.  "Ahh."  She smiled; the platinum bracelet she'd admired earlier.  She considered it a bonus for her work.  One could lie back and think of England, but this seemed much more practical.  Her eyes lit on the bottle of wine on the sideboard.

She had seen the look of contempt on the waiter who delivered it to the suite.  It mirrored the ones worn by the rest of the staff.  The thin veneer of politeness they were obliged to maintain went only so far. She may have been registered as the Baron's wife, but no one was fooled.  No matter, they didn't have to respect her, as long as they acted as if they did.  Surfaces were all that anyone saw.  And if they believed her to be no better than she should be, they wouldn't begin to suspect what she really was.

She poured a glass of wine, admiring its rich red color.  With the air of a connoisseur she inhaled the tempting bouquet.  She swirled the wine to watch its legs.  

"Funny how the prospect of imminent death, makes you appreciate the finer things in life."  She considered the next step in the dance she was about to take.  She sipped the wine and held it, savoring the flavor.  A wry thought struck her, "The Field Marshal is going to be very upset."  A pleased smile crossed her lips.

Her thoughts returned to the next phase of her assignment and the cost she might bear.  Well, when weighed against the gains, her life wasn't much of a price.  She wondered about the army officer who was also about to risk himself to provide her cover.  What regrets does he have about the peril he was facing? "I'll ask Huxley about him."  She raised her wine glass in salute to him.

She considered the path that brought her to these circumstances.  Try as she might she saw no way she could have changed the course and survived.  But somehow no matter how much time elapsed no matter how far she traveled, the past was always there.  She sipped the wine.    

Atonement was not possible.  No matter what she did, no matter how many lives were saved, some people would always condemn her.  She had resigned herself to that fact.  Survival had become her goal - at least once this war was over.  She touched the hidden compartment in the bag she always traveled with.  Survival and something else.

***

Summerlee returned to his home.  The desk in the study was tidy.  The blotter stood ready for him, the inkpot and pens stood perfectly lined up.  The lamp ready for his use.  All that was missing were the files he left there last night.

"It's done."  Summerlee spoke to the empty room, closing the door behind him.  A thought occurred to him.  "Maybe he'll pick one of the others.  I gave him three to choose from.  He doesn't have to select Challenger's."  But instinctively he knew Challenger's project was doomed.  And he couldn't be sure in his heart that his judgment was impartial; if his ongoing feud with Challenger affected his decision.

Summerlee sighed as he went to review his notes on the medicinal properties of certain herbs.  He had a need to immerse himself in his research, provide some distance from this latest reminder of the realities of war and that not all casualties came from bullets.  Since Anna's death his studies had been his comfort and his mainstay.  At least his plants wouldn't be hurt and wouldn't hurt him.  They wouldn't cause him such self-doubt.

**A few days later**

The Professor picked up a copy of the day's International Herald Tribune to peruse while enjoying his pipe and sherry.  The story below the fold caught his attention.  Rumors of a theft of Admiralty supplies.  Some shipment from Canada was involved.  Naturally the Admiralty denied the theft.  

The number of details snagged Summerlee's attention.  Considering it was reportedly only a rumor, the wealth of background information in the article was staggering.  As if the reporter had had a very specific source for the information.  But one fact especially stuck. The theft included a shipment of iridium.

***

**The plateau, 1919**

The Amontillado was gone.  Summerlee looked at the bottom of the glass, but no answer was there.  

"Whatever question troubles you, Arthur, it's time to let it go."  Marguerite stood at his side, enjoying her last sip.  "Take your own advice."

"Physician, heal thyself?"  Summerlee gave a wry smile.  "Advice is so easy to dispense and so hard to take."

"But you were right, Arthur.  It is a marvelous opportunity," she looked into the endless night,  "for someone who deserves it." She patted his arm and smiled softly.  As she retreated into the treehouse her last words were nearly lost. "For some there are no second chances."  

"I hope you're wrong, Marguerite.  I don't think I could bear it if I didn't think we all deserve a second chance."

**_finis_**

**Notes:**  
Churchill (1874 – 1965) was the first lord of the admiralty in WWI until the disaster in the Dardanelles.  In 1915 after he was reduced to a minor office as Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster he resigned and joined the army.  He rose to the rank of Colonel.  In 1917 he received an appointment as minister of munitions in Lloyd George's government.   From 1918-1921 he was the state secretary for war and air.

In **Journey Begins/Pilot**  
Challenger and Summerlee confront each other with a great deal of animosity.

In **Nectar**  
Summerlee talks about his wife, Anna, and her death.

In **Salvation**  
Challenger and Summerlee's friendship develops as they are incarcerated together.

In **Tribute**  
Summerlee speaks about his thoughts on second chances.

In **Unnatural Selection**  
It is revealed that William Hargrove, who has done unorthodox research in genetics, fled London fifteen years ago when accused of experimenting on his daughter when he tried to save her from dying. 

In **Barbarians at the Gate**  
Summerlee tells Challenger he's grandstanding with a dozen pterodactyl eggs. Challenger says 'profession jealously rears its ugly head'.

In **Under Pressure**   
Challenger's good friend, Lionel Holt, head of the geology department at Oxford, works with the Kobalds. Marguerite tells Challenger sometimes you have to pay for your mistakes.

In **Man of Vision**  
The vision of Summerlee mentions that Marguerite once told him there were no second chances.  Roxton tells Marguerite that the past is always there no matter how much time and space separate them.  Both of them believe that they can't escape the past.

In **Into the Fire**  
Challenger reveals more than a casual knowledge of dirigibles.

In **Out of the Blue**   
Marguerite mentions meeting Churchill and having drinks with his wife in 1917.

In **Brothers in Arms**   
Challenger mentions that he tried to join the Navy, but the Admiralty thought he'd be more help pursuing scientific research.

In **Tapestry**   
Roxton tells Challenger that he chose Challenger's research to be sacrificed based on the report of the Summerlee Commission.  It was revealed that Marguerite was the triple agent, Parsifal.

When Roxton reveals that he based his decision to sacrifice Challengers work based on the findings of the Summerlee commission, Challenger was surprised to find Summerlee was involved.  I decided to interpret that, as he knew of some committee, but not that they had determined how likely projects were to succeed.

Thorne asks Challenger when interrogated if he has a problem with the enemy dying when Challenger tells him his process could save lives of all soldiers.

Marguerite inquires of Huxley the name of the army officer who was arrested.  He doesn't tell her.

Huxley and Thorne discuss the fact that Malone's news article has details on the theft that could have only have come from inside.

**From the book The Lost World**  
Doctor Meldrum and Professor Murray were characters in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Lost World.  

**van der Waals force**  
A weak attractive force between atoms or nonpolar molecules caused by a temporary change in dipole moment arising from a brief shift of orbital electrons to one side of one atom or molecule, creating a similar shift in adjacent atoms or molecules.  
After Johannes Diderik _van der Waals_ (1837-1923), Dutch physicist.

_From: The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Third Edition_ copyright © 1992 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Electronic version licensed from INSO Corporation. All rights reserved.

**And a geography lesson**  
**Laurentian Plateau ** or **Laurentian Highlands** also **Canadian Shield **  
A plateau region of eastern Canada extending from the Great Lakes and the St. Lawrence River northward to the Arctic Ocean. The highland formation also covers much of Greenland and forms the Adirondack Mountains in the United States.

_From: The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Third Edition_ copyright © 1992 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Electronic version licensed from INSO Corporation. All rights reserved.

This seemed the most likely location for the Laurentian refinery mentioned in Tapestry.

**Links: **  
Air-raids in WWI  


Winston Churchill  
www.winstonchurchill.org


End file.
